


Cake

by Miriella



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cake, Cliche, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Food Kink, Foreplay, Hand Jobs, Kissing, No penetration, Post-Time Skip, Tights, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 00:09:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21065498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miriella/pseuds/Miriella
Summary: Lysithea thought she was sharing some of her favorite cake with a friend. It ended up turning into something more.





	Cake

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed that no one has written an explicit fic with LyCy. That makes me very, very sad. Time to rectify it!
> 
> Post-timeskip. Lots of mentions of cake.

Lysithea von Ordelia loved cake. Short cake, carrot cake, cheesecake. Sweet cakes, plain cakes, and frosted cakes topped with garnishes or sprinkles. It didn’t matter the color, size or texture; if the cake existed, Lysithea would enjoy it. She sought to taste every cake in all of Fódlan, as unrealistic as the goal might be.

Every week after the stressful war council meeting, she would leave the walls of the monastery and venture to the small town just a short distance away. She would hum happily to herself as her rather giddy and overenthusiastic excuse for a walk wove her through the streets at an uneven pace--passerby’s, food carts, and vendors all narrowly dodged. As her sight set on a hidden gem of a pastry shop in the back of town, the mage’s heart skipped a beat every time. Sometimes she took Annette and Mercedes, who were fellow sweets connoisseurs, with her to gorge on all the cake they could. The circle of comrades who knew of her cake-eating ways could be counted on one hand, and if Mercie or Annie were too busy, the mage had no qualms with shoveling in the delectable food alone.

One day during Pegasus Moon, Lysithea entered her haven, inhaling all the sweets. If there was one thing Lysithea could give herself credit for, it was her sense of smell. She could easily pick out the direction of coconut candy, to the left, macarons, on her right, and even the faint scent of oil used for deep-fried cookies in the back kitchen.

There was a sweet elderly couple who owned the modest patisserie. Though she wasn’t typically into small talk, Lysithea had been going to the place five years ago while she attended the officer’s academy, and then the past few months leading up to that day. The old lady and her husband had occasionally managed to squeeze some conversations from the regular’s lips.

“Hello, Lysithea!” The woman perked up at the sight of the short girl. “What will you be having today?”

Lysithea responded with only a smile and a faint greeting as she moved up to the old wood counter. Scanning the menu in front of her that must have been written more than ten years prior—for the ink had faded to a light blue and the paper was so thin that a slight tap of a finger on it could leave a tear— Lysithea pondered the choices. Sometimes she arrived knowing exactly what she wanted and sometimes she arrived and had absolutely no clue in Nemesis’ hell what to pick. This was the latter.

Anxiety rose through the poor girl as she read through over fifty menu items and realized she could describe the taste of each one in explicit detail. There was nothing new to discover, which had been a thrill she once felt when she had first discovered just how abundant the elderly couple’s offerings were. She would have to buy a repeat sweet.

She may as well choose the one that she liked the best.

“I’ll have the orange cake.” She answered.

The woman nodded with a subtle smile and went into the back. Lysithea sat on an old rickety chair next to the counter, cursing because her dress wasn’t quite long enough to cover the backs of her thighs to shield her perfect white stockings from the risk of tearing. _No fidgeting_, she told herself.

_ _ _

It was about half an hour later when the old woman came out from the kitchen with a perfectly folded brown paper bag and her signature smile plastered on her face. Lysithea had embarrassingly fallen asleep in her chair and the understanding lady tapped her on the shoulder. She woke with a jerk.

“Here’s your orange cake.” She handed her the bag. “It will be 350 gold.”

Lysithea couldn’t help but shake her head with a smile tugging at her lips. For as long as she knew this elderly woman, she always handed her the food before getting payment. Goddess forbid some ruffian takes advantage of her trusting nature.

She paid for her cake hastily, relishing in the orange smell wafting out of the bag. She wanted to wait until she could sit on the bench right outside to enjoy the spongey goodness. She exited the shop, hearing the doorbell ring a farewell, and seated herself. Lysithea wasted no time in removing the bag’s contents and shoving a quarter of it past her lips.

Forgetting her surroundings, Lysithea let out a throaty moan as a burst of strong citrus battled with her taste buds. As she rolled her tongue through the sponge, she felt each crumb, every particle of dry cake break and dissolve with her saliva until her tongue reached the center and the strength of flavor that hit it surprised her so much she began coughing.

She hardly waited for the unfortunate hacking to subsist before she drove another quarter of the cake into her mouth. This time she took note of the light cream cheese frosting painted on the top. She swirled the cake upside-down in her mouth to taste more of it, chasing the fleeting thin layer of creamy goodness.

As she swallowed her second mouthful, she thought about how she had just barely remembered that the orange cake was her favorite. She was right.

Packing the rest of the sinful-unlike-Seiros cake in the bag, she decided to go tell her good friend Cyril about the delectable sweets shop and introduce _his_ taste buds to the wonders of Lysithea’s personal heaven.

_ _ _

She had invited him for teatime in her bedroom, which was connected to the open walkway along most of the academy’s former commoner students. She didn’t particularly care that she wasn’t on the second floor with most of the nobles. There were more important matters to focus on—like studying books at the library or sweets.

The tan Almyran man’s face was scrunched up with confusion as Lysithea led him exasperatedly through the monastery to her room. He couldn’t figure out why she was so excited about tea. He didn’t hate tea, but he didn’t exactly _love_ it either. As he felt her hand radiating warmth throughout his body, he decided he didn’t really mind this, whatever it was.

They entered her room and Lysithea nearly slammed door shut with excitement, vibrating the old floorboards and causing Cyril to jump in surprise. He heard the light rattling of teacups against her table and a small _slosh_.

_Shit!_

Cyril knew how crazy Lysithea could get when he got clumsy; the one time he knocked her open book on the table in the library onto the floor, she glared daggers at him. He feared for his life as she began gesticulating in a concise way that he could barely recognize as summoning _magic. _Thankfully, she stopped herself, and said it was all in jest at the time, but he could never forget that look in her eyes, the _intent_.

“I’m so sorry, Lysi—”

“Oh, it’s not a big deal!” She cheerfully patted him on the back as she grabbed a handkerchief from the pocket of her dress and crouched to quickly wipe at the liquid on the table. It was then that he noticed a small brown bag next to one of the cups.

“What’s that?” He pointed.

“Huh?” She turned to look at him. “Oh, it’s a surprise I bought for you today.”

Now, Cyril had been harboring a secret crush on the pretty white-haired mage since forever, so when she nonchalantly mentioned that she had gone out to buy something for _him_, his heart began to race and his palms nearly instantly perspired from nerves and anticipation. He wiped his hands on his shirt with a gulp and Lysithea gave him a questioning look.

“Are you feeling all right, Cyril?”

“Oh, yeah, uh… I-I am.” He stammered, cursing his habit of wearing his heart on his sleeve.

She looked like she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t press it and instead beckoned him to sit down with renewed vigor. He did so awkwardly as he lowered himself to the floor and folded his legs. She was the first to raise her cup in the air and it lingered. He grabbed his own cup and clinked it against hers as they both drank.

“Sweet-apple blend. Figures.” He snorted.

She set her teacup down and crossed her arms. “You know I like sweet things!” She hissed.

“Of course,” he replied with a knowing smirk. As much as he wanted to poke fun, he didn’t want to say anything to ruin the time he was having with her.

She uncrossed her arms in satisfaction and they began their small talk. It was as typical as small talk could get. They talked about battle plans, books, Cyril’s wyvern, and even the plain-as-day, boring, grey weather outside. Cyril ate up every moment of it like a starving puppy, even when _truly pathetic_ crossed his mind. Self-deprecation needed to be kept at bay, at least for now, so he could concentrate on every moment he had with her. He savored them like fine wine and loved the way Lysithea’s pink irises would flicker with interest as they continued conversing.

Finally, Lysithea decided it was time for the grand reveal.

“All right, Cyril, I want you to close your eyes for me.” She teased, and he instantly obeyed. _Lovesick puppy indeed._

Cyril heard the bag crinkle and sensed her hand slowly approaching his face.

“Open up!” She chimed.

“Uh, what—”

“Just do it already!” She admonished impatiently, and he could sense her hand moving back.

He obeyed with a sigh, opening his lips up to allow the intrusion. He smelled it for a brief moment before he tasted it. Soft orange-scented sponge moved past his lips and he closed them at her fingers to chew the substance. It was slightly sticky, and there was a hint of a cheese flavor. Part of it melted on his tongue but most of it stuck to the roof of his mouth insistently, clumping against it dryly. He tried to dislodge the mass with his tongue but failed, so he opened his eyes and sipped some tea in order to loosen it and swallow it all with a gulp.

His eyes flickered to Lysithea’s face. _ANTICIPATION_ may as well have been written across her forehead with a quill, because the way her round eyes narrowed, her shoulders leaned in close to him, and her mouth formed an ‘o’, he knew that she was relishing in his reaction to the orange cake he just consumed.

“How was it?” She asked with the patience of a child.

“It was good.” He said.

She put her elbows up on the table and interlaced her fingers. “It’s good? That’s it?” Complete incredulity could be detected in her tone.

“Yes, I mean, I… liked it?” Cyril offered.

She stood up with a huff and circled around the table. Crouching down next to him, he turned to face her with confusion as she patted his forehead.

“You must be ill.” She concluded. “There is no way you could not find a cake as lovely as this to deserve every bit of worshipping from the Goddess herself that it does.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think—”

“—No, I don’t!” She reached over the table and grabbed the bag.

“It’s a good thing I only gave half of what I had left!” She pulled the rest of the cake out and began to shove it toward this mouth.

“Lysithea, hold on—mmph!” His eyes widened at the intrusion in his oral cavity as it hit the back of his throat. He coughed and sputtered and choked, wet pieces of cake flying onto the table, the carpet, and—unfortunately—Lysithea.

“Oh, fuck!” She cursed uncharacteristically as he bent over, wheezing. “I’m so sorry. Here!” She haphazardly shoved Cyril’s teacup toward him, creating an unexpected splash and dousing his crotch.

“Oh, Goddess, no…” She buried her face in her hands in embarrassment as he worked through his coughing fit with no aid.

Once he could finally breathe, finally _talk_, Cyril tried to comfort her.

“Look, it’s all right, Ly.”

She shook her head.

“Look at me.” He insisted, grabbing her wrists and pulling her arms down. When she still wouldn’t, he cupped the side of her jaw with a shaky breath.

She looked up, her eyes finally meeting his. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

“I know. It’s okay. I’m okay.” He soothed.

“Cyril, you got cake everywhere!” She laughed, quickly recovered and eyeing the wet crumbs everywhere.

“I learned from the best,” he smiled, earning him a light punch in the chest.

“I’m going to clean this up, but first… let’s get you cleaned up.” She rolled her eyes playfully.

She reached out toward him, brushing crumbs off his face. His head jerked back lightly in surprise. They silently eyed each other, one reading the other’s thoughts as he took the initiative to lean forward, stopping mere inches from their lips connecting. He searched her eyes again and she his as their lips crashed together, surprising both at the sheer force of it. Their teeth clinked together harshly and they both jolted back in pain.

“Fuck!”, they cursed in unison.

Lysithea covered her mouth in surprise and shame as Cyril raised his eyebrows.

“I didn’t know you had such a _dirty_ mouth, Lysithea.” He teased.

Her eyes widened at the implications of what he said and then narrowed. “Let’s see how dirty my mouth can be,” she challenged, surging forward and grabbing the back of his neck to resume their kiss.

This time their teeth didn’t clash, and the kiss was so soft and warm that Cyril couldn’t help himself but sink into it. They went about it lightly this time, in fact it was so light that it was almost chaste and certainly sweet, but Cyril took the initiative to angle himself in order to lightly tongue at the entrance of her mouth. She responded with a surprised sigh and graciously allowed him entry. Once his tongue entered, she certainly didn’t submit. She used her own tongue to weave around his and enter his mouth to explore. They each playfully tried to shove the other’s tongue back in their mouth. It was like they were on the battlefield, Cyril clashing with opponents on his wyvern and Lysithea defending herself with a devastating spell like Miasma. Wyverns were weak to magic. Pitifully so.

They pulled away after a few minutes of battle, panting. Eying each other and daring one another to make the next move, Cyril leaned into Lysithea’s bubble, his nose grazing the side of her cheek as he made a light peck on her jawline and then moved downward, warm breath like a forge blower at a blacksmith’s. He lightly suckled her neck in each area he spotted a crumb from earlier, cleaning her of the sticky goodness and pulling out a small pleasant moan from the girl each time. Her face, ears, and neck had reddened from their usual snow complexion and she squirmed as she already felt a growing heat in her groin. Time passed as he worked through the crumbs, licking them off her clothing and refusing to break eye contact with her. Lysithea wouldn’t normally admit this, but it was _erotic_ and contributed to her growing impatience.

“Cyril,” she gasped as he gently pushed her to lay back on the floor. It wasn’t the most comfortable, and Lysithea figured her back would be stiff later, but she couldn’t bother to care, for his light nipping at her stomach through the fabric was more than enough to distract her.

She pushed him off her in annoyance, and a pang of fear surged through him briefly until she lifted her pretty purple dress over her head, allowing his eyes to explore her hungrily. She was dressed only in a light undergown and stockings, and hastily took off her mary janes and tossed them aside. They reconnected with a deep kiss and she grabbed the hem of his green shirt, insistently pulling it over his head as well. Lysithea allowed her hands to move along Cyril’s torso, feeling all the faded scars of the slim-built Amyran man. Tan skin connected deliciously with pale skin as his lips found purchase in her neck again, this time sucking hard enough to leave a purple mark. She gasped and moaned shamefully, face reddening even more at the sounds she was making.

His hands had been resting on her knees, but the temptation was too much, and they began sliding up her covered thighs. His thumb hooked on a small imperfection in the cotton inside her thigh. “You have a tear,” he noted dumbly.

“Ugh, I figured it would happen.” She sighed. “It was that darn chair at the sweets shop. I’ll have to buy another pair to replace it.”

An idea came to his head. “Oh, really?” He started in a teasing tone. “So, you’re throwing these tights out?”

“Probably?” She answered hesitantly. Cyril hated waste and Lysithea feared that a truly unarousing lecture was in store for her.

“In that case…” He hooked his thumb in the small hole, opening it up in circle motions before pulling up and tearing the white fabric.

“Cyril!” She chided.

“What?” He laughed. “I thought you said that you were getting rid of them. That means I can do what I want with them.”

Lysithea was going to argue, but he slid his hand underneath the tights, touching her bare thighs, and the skin-on-skin contact on her legs left her speechless. He gripped and massaged her thigh, rewarding him with a moan, before pulling his hand out of her tights and leaving her at a near whimper from the lost of contact. Instead, his hands snaked under her undergown, gliding past her soft belly, before reaching his target of her small breasts. He grasped them shyly, the touch still causing Lysithea’s breath to hitch.

“These feel really good,” he admitted, blushing and shaking a little with nerves. It didn’t escape her attention.

“Cyril,” she sat up, gently pushing his arms away.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked with worry.

“No, not at all,” she smiled. “I just want to touch you too. I want you to be less nervous.”

“I’m sorry—”

“I’m nervous too, but I’m also excited, and I honestly want to get my hands on you.” She declared.

Lysithea dove in, giving his neck a flurry of kisses and nuzzling him. His responsive groan was like music to her ears and it gave her the confidence to feel his pecs again, fingertips grazing his nipples. He gave a visible shudder in return. Her curiosity piqued, she circled and pinched and prodded at his dusky buds, and he groaned in embarrassment. This time, he pushed her arms away.

“Too much?” She questioned. “You seem very sensitive there.”

“No, it’s just embarrassing,” he admitted. “Guys aren’t supposed to like their… chests touched.”

“Says who?” She grabbed his hand. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed. I won’t judge you. I think it’s really sexy that you like it.”

She had dissipated Cyril’s worries. “Let’s get back to it, then,” he said.

“Can I touch you lower?” She asked, fingernails grazing his stomach. He nodded.

Her fingers reached his trousers, which had been previously soaked through with tea. He helped her remove them, and she took in the sight. He was still wearing his underwear, but it was slightly damp with a combination of apple-flavored liquid and a bit of his body fluids. She was pleased to see a clear outline of his bulge, pulsating through the moisture and begging to be released from the confines of the fabric.

Lysithea was a bit nervous, due to her never seeing or touching a man’s cock before, but she imagined that the sweet and innocent Cyril was the same way. They would learn each other’s bodies together. He lifted his butt and eagerly pulled his underwear down, his proud purple Almyran cock standing to attention.

She eyed it warily and grasped it loosely, stroking up and down and watching the skin move with her hand. “Is this good?” she asked.

“Here,” he placed his grip on top of hers, tightening it and stroking with a firm twist motion as her thumb brushed against the head. “I won’t break.”

She nodded and licked her lips, pink eyes concentrating on his member. He smiled assuredly as his eyes moved up to her face. She resumed stroking as he had showed, and he let a groan escape him. “You look so cute, Ly.” He complimented her earnestly, her eyes meeting his before flying back down to focus on her work, a blush growing deeper on her cheeks. A soft sound escaped her lips in acknowledgement. Cyril allowed himself to close his eyes and tilt his head back, focusing on the pleasure that racked through him slowly.

“You can go faster,” he said after a minute. She did as he asked, biting her bottom lip in concentration and looking up at his face. Wrecked with pleasure, his hips started to buck up as she worked him. They maintained eye contact, despite both of them feeling a small urge to look away, the desire to stare into one another’s face deeply overrode it.

“You look so sexy, Cyril.” She smirked.

“Fuck, Ly,” He shuddered, her words reaching every inch of his body. “I’m going to come.” And he did straight afterward with a moan, spurts of it shooting up, the highest one hitting just below her lip. She grinned triumphantly, licking it up. It tasted bitter but she didn’t care. He lost the balance he had on his arms and groaned as his back hit the floor.

“Hang on, give me a minute.” He gasped.

She waited patiently, grabbing the handkerchief on the table and wiping up the majority of sticky fluid on the floor and her undergown. She tore off her tights and tossed them in the bin during his haze. She wasn’t sure if he even noticed, still panting with his arm flung around his face. A minute later, he sat back up.

“Fuck, Lysithea, that was so good.” He said, eyeing the wet spots on her tunic.

“Of course, it was,” she beamed.

He laughed, genuinely, and eyed her bed in the corner. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about you. Come ‘ere,” He stood up, pulling her up with him by the hand and leading her to sit on the edge of her bed.

Cyril leaned in to kiss Lysithea passionately, unlike the lust-filled haze they had before. He gently pulled her dress up over her head, leaving her in her panties. He suckled her collarbone and grasped her breasts, sensitive tissue meeting with old hardened callouses from shooting his bow and striking enemies with his axe. It was a weird feeling as he felt her; she felt warm tingles all over her body slowly making their way to her core. The ache was hard to handle, and she ground her hips into the bed with a moan.

“So sexy,” he commented, hands snaking down and squeezing her love handles.

“Cyril, please touch me,” she gasped in desperation, hips jutting into the side of the mattress.

“It’s not very proper for a noble to beg to a commoner,” he teased.

“Cyril,” she whined. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“Is this what you want?” He asked as he slipped his hand into her panties, grazing the mound of white pubic hair as his finger gathered up ample moisture from her entrance before pulling it up and running circles around her swollen hood.

“Yes, _please,_” she grinded against his hand impatiently, searching out the friction of his fingers. He dutifully fulfilled her request, massaging her clit with two fingers for a short while before boldly spreading her legs further and crouching down face level with her crotch.

She was only able to get out a “what are you doi—” while he pulled her panties down to her ankles before he dove in, kissing her wet lips and leaving her with a shuddering sigh. He continued eagerly, licking a long stripe from her entrance through her folds before burying his mouth in her wetness. Lysithea thought, for a moment, that it was as though he found her tastier than the cake. Such a sinful thought, it was, but it certainly rang true as he continued his assault without pause.

Gasps, sighs, and moans filled the room, but Lysithea was too gone to care. Several minutes of Cyril’s divine attention had her climaxing with a shudder and a whine, her eyes clenched shut so hard she began to see flurries along the edges.

She pulled herself more comfortably onto the bed and collapsed, pulling Cyril to lie with her. He did so, and she loved feeling his warm body tangled with her own as he ran his fingers through her silver hair, gently pulling out any tangles in the process. It was so endearing and sweet. Being with Cyril was warm, comfortable, and loving, and she wanted to relish it for as long as she could

“I’ve always liked you, Lysithea,” he admitted quietly.

“I’ve always like you, too, Cyril.” She hummed against his chest.

“—next week,” Lysithea mumbled.

“Huh?”

“I said, let’s meet again for cake time next week. Come with me to pick something out at the shop.”

“Of course.”

As evening hit Garreg Mach Monastery, Lysithea and Cyril fell asleep together, naked, their clothes scattered around the room, a soaked handkerchief on the table, torn tights in her trash bin, and bits of cake were settled between the floorboards.

**Author's Note:**

> I told you there would be lots of mention of cake, didn't I? No complaints!
> 
> Anyway, feel free to comment, give kudos, or whatever your (loving?) heart desires.


End file.
